On Until Morning
by livewiresandwildfires
Summary: Alex Rider leaned against the door frame of the restaurant, eyes fixed on Yassen. Alex stood tall and confident, tilting his head at him like a beckoning. / MI6 decide to try catching flies with honey; Alex has never been very sweet, but he'll have to do. / (Not slash). Rated T-M, full warning inside.
1. Present

**Disclaimer:** Alex Rider and his world belong to Anthony Horowitz. Quotes from Peter Pan. Any mentions of recognizable works do not belong to me. Any quotes or uses from other published authors or fan fiction writers belong to their original owners. I take no credit.

 **Warnings:** torture, strangulation, no slash (but slash-like themes), mentions of kinks, mentions of underage sex, mentions of rape, mentions of age-gap relationship.

This was my attempt at writing slash, but I chickened out and changed the story line. Might try writing slash in the future, but not this story.

* * *

Yassen Gregorovich sat calmly at the bar. He perched at the edge of his stool, in the darkened far corner of the hotel restaurant.

His eyes flickered over the rim of the vodka that he hadn't taken a sip from (nothing ever could compare with the original Russian beverage, though he may be biased).

He knew MI6 were catching up, they were already in Ipswich, it was only a matter of time before they figured out his exact location. But he'd managed to stay a step ahead of them for nearly a year, in there own backyard might he add, and that wasn't about to change.

Yassen knew how '6 worked. While they might seem prepared and constantly vigilant, he knew that an operation took time and set up. Especially if they wanted to capture him alive.

Once they figured out the exact hotel Yassen was in, they needed time to prepare a frontal assault. They needed to have numbers on their side, because up against an assassin of his calibre, they wouldn't have the upper hand on skill.

They would need to scout the exits and possible escape routes, as well as figure out how to remove as many civilians as possible from harm. Despite MI6's brutal reputation, Yassen knew that civilian lives would be one of the top priorities. Maybe not the number one priority, but up there.

By the time they could send in any units to get him, he would be gone.

All that was in the future, however. Yassen estimated that he had at least another ten minutes until any of the ground agents found him and reported his location.

That in mind, he took another pretend sip from his glass and shifted for a better view of the restaurant entrance. His eyes discreetly scanned for anything out of formation.

A height discrepancy is what caught Yassen's eye. In a restaurant with an open bar, kids would be strictly forbidden. And in a hotel as shady as this one, kids were already a rare sight.

No one in their right mind would send their kids to _this_ side of town.

It was one of the reasons Yassen had chosen the place. Having children in the area would have been a distraction and a nuisance. Yassen let his eyes fleet over the crowd by the door, searching for the person that had caught his attention.

He let his eyes wander, taking in the crowd as a whole, never focusing on one spot for too long. He found who he was looking for in seconds.

Alex Rider leaned against the doorframe of the restaurant, eyes fixed on Yassen. Alex stood tall and confident, tilting his head at him like a beckoning.

He knew it was no mistake that Alex was here, the boy was one of MI6's ground agents. Yassen felt a piece of anger rise up as he watched Alex turn and walk confidently towards the hotel lobby.

As unintimidated and self assured as Alex had appeared, he had seen the nerves that Alex had become so adept at hiding.

Yassen tossed a bill down to pay for his still full drink, and quickly exited the restaurant. He followed Alex's path through the lobby and into a hallway.

He saw the flicker of a door closing ahead of him, and sped towards it. It was the first floor entry to the staircase, Yassen went through the door and closed it behind him silently.

He could hear the gentle and measured thuds of Alex's foot steps. Too light and quiet to be a full grown man.

He noiselessly climbed the concrete stairs, listening to Alex climb above him. Yassen was just going up to the second landing when he heard a door swing open and shut above him. He paused for a moment, but Alex's footsteps had disappeared.

He hastened his pace, stopping at the third floor door where he knew Alex to be. There was no window to see into the floor. Alex could be waiting with a dozen soldiers ready for Yassen's arrest.

He thought through the probabilities and possibilities, assessed the risks and rewards, then turned and retreated back down the stairs.

He reached the first floor again, and turned down the hallway towards the lobby. Crossing to the other side, he stopped by a pair of sliding doors. He pressed his thumb to the call button, and moments later the elevator doors opened.

Yassen stepped in, hitting the door close button much to the dismay of the suited man that had called for him to hold the door. He then hit the button marked with a bold three.

A short ride and a moment of cheery elevator music later, the doors opened silently to the third floor. Yassen instantly spotted Alex, standing in the middle of the hallway, leaning against the wall, facing the staircase door. He was alone, just as Yassen had predicted. Furthermore, he appeared weaponless. That didn't surprise Yassen, as MI6 had never been in the habit of giving their favourite teen spy a way to defend himself.

Yassen stalked out of the elevator, his footfalls silent on the hallways plush carpet floor. He was a few feet away from Alex now, and examined the tensed muscles in the teens shoulders.

He quickly lashed out, grabbing Alex's left wrist in his right hand and spinning them face to face. He snatched up Alex's other wrist in a strong hold and slammed the boy bodily into the nearest wall.

A small puff of air escaped Alex's lips as he was unceremoniously chucked against the flat surface.

Yassen stood more than a head taller than Alex, forcing the boy to tilt his head up. Alex faced him with a look of disinterest and a total lack of surprise. Yassen felt a small surge of pride, knowing that Alex had been completely aware of Yassen's approach, and had probably even expected Yassen to come from the elevator instead of the stairs.

His feeling of pride was quickly shadowed with a creeping anger.

"What are you doing here, Alex?"

A smirk flitted across the boy's face, a mask of full bravado. "Would you believe me if I said I was on holiday?" Alex's British accent was as thick and posh as ever, despite Yassen knowing he had been in America for months.

He gave Alex a withering look in response to the question. The teen responded with a look of utter unrepentance.

Yassen rolled his eyes at the child-like antics. He shifted his left hand from Alex's wrist, letting it drift down his arm. Alex kept the freed arm in the same position against the wall, not attempting to get free. He watched Alex's reactions carefully as he ran his hand down the boys back. Yassen observed the slight bob of Alex's Adam's apple as his fingers reached the waistband of Alex's jeans.

His fingers slipped farther, dipping into Alex's back pocket and emerging with a keycard in his grasp. It was plain white with a logo of a lighting bolt etched in black; the symbol for the Stormside hotel.

He watched the nervous energy in Alex's eyes increase.

Yassen slipped the keycard into his own back pocket, before returning his attention to Alex. He shifted, pushing both of Alex's hands above his head and holding them in place with his left hand.

With his right hand, Yassen carefully searched Alex's other pockets. He came up with no weapons, as he'd expected. The only gadget on Alex's person was a steel ring on his right hand ring finger.

It was about half a size too big for Alex's hand and had a simple circular design on it. Yassen removed it from Alex's small and calloused finger and rolled it around in his equally calloused hand. The design could be pressed, he realized. Probably a distress signal.

"I assume you've used this?" Yassen asked, though it was more of a statement.

"The second I saw you." Alex answered truthfully. Yassen dropped the ring at their feet, crushing it with a booted heel. He didn't think that it would stop MI6 from finding them, the signal had been going for a few minutes already, but it might slow them down.

"It'll have taken perhaps five minutes for MI6 to find your exact location. By now, they'll be moving their units from around the city to surround the hotel? SAS I presume?"

Alex nodded, still straining to look up at Yassen, "Of course."

"The city is small, but a tourist spot. The units would have been spread out to accommodate the hotels, motels and other places where I might have been in accommodation?"

"Yes. We knew you were by the water, though. I saw the Fer de Lance in the shipyard."

Yassen nodded approvingly, "It'll take approximately thirty minutes for all the necessary units to get within striking distance. They'll already be suited up, but they'll have to do a customary comm's check, so there's another five minutes," Yassen continued thinking out loud, "it'll take at least fifteen minutes to scout the area for escape routes and cover them, but I'll round that up to twenty because they'll want to try to be stealthy. There was a few dozen people in the restaurant downstairs, it is..." Yassen checked his watch, "5:57 now, so the dinner rush should have started. There will also be people in the rooms, so I estimate it'll take them a further half hour to evacuate the building of civilians." Yassen smiled at Alex darkly, "that means they've left you alone with me for an hour and twenty-five minutes. What on earth were you meant to do to keep me here?" Yassen already had a good idea of what they had expected of Alex.

Alex looked Yassen in the eye, tilting his neck to relieve some of the pressure of keeping his head back. "Well, they told me this was to be a honey trap." Alex smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, "I told them it was stupid."

A honey trap. That's what he'd assumed, but it didn't give him any satisfaction to get it confirmed. It also didn't make him any less pissed knowing that MI6 would send an underaged kid as a Raven; or that Alex was oh-so willing to whore himself out for Queen and Country.

"Why would they send you?" Yassen asked - again, he already knew the answer.

"They were trying to figure out what your weakness is, they decided that it would be me."

The fact that MI6 thought for a second that he was attracted to Alex in that way just fuelled his anger. Alex was a _child_. "You don't agree?"

Alex scoffed, "Being an assassin as long as you have? If you had a weakness, you'd have been killed by now."

"I almost was," Yassen retorted. Alex nodded, ceding the point.

"But you _weren't_ killed," Alex stated, "and as much as I think you don't want to kill me, I don't think you would die for me. Again. Nor would you let '6 snatch you up. Again. Anyway," Alex continued with a shrug, "your debt to my dad is long fulfilled. You saved my life a dozen times, so there's not much stopping you from killing me."

"Then why come? If you think it so likely that I'll kill you?" As if that was even a possibility; after everything he'd done to help Alex along.

"Because I was told to," Alex replied simply. "Doesn't matter if _I_ thought it was stupid."

"You're right, it was stupid." Yassen said calmly, almost pleasantly. He noted the brief relief that crosses Alex's expression. Just as Alex's muscles relaxed, Yassen yanked Alex from the wall and propelled him face first at the door to their immediate right.

Alex threw out his hands to stop himself, hitting the wooden door with a hollow thud. Alex went to turn around, slight shock radiating from him. Yassen stopped him, pressing his forearm to Alex's back and pushing him against the wooden panelling.

With the other hand, Yassen once again retrieved Alex's key card and swiped it in the doors scanner. Yassen had deduced the door correctly, and a green light flashed as the door unlocked. Yassen opened the door and propelled Alex into the room ahead of him.

Alex stumbled before regaining his footing. He stopped in the middle of the suite and spun around to face Yassen, guard up and hackles raised.

Yassen crossed over to him in two strides, wrapping a hand around Alex's throat before the boy could react. A small, stifled breath escaped Alex's esophagus.

Alex instinctively stepped back, but he kept a firm hold on Alex's neck, stepping with him.

"What-" Alex's question was cut off abruptly as Yassen raised his hand, forcing Alex onto his tiptoes. Alex's hands had risen up, one wrapping around Yassen's wrist, the other tangling with the fingers around his throat.

"Well," Yassen spoke, going to answering er Alex's cut off question, "if MI6 expect me to wait for them, they had better make it worth my while, don't you think?"

He watched the controlled panic appear in Alex's eyes. Maybe it wasn't fair, taking his anger out on Alex, but it wasn't like teen hadn't brought it on himself. Alex stumbled as he moved them back, pressing the teen against the far wall.

He kept an even pressure on Alex's windpipe until the brown eyes began to glaze over. He released his hold, letting Alex double over for a second, gasping and coughing.

A moment later, Yassen pushed Alex back against the wall. They mimicked their position from the hallway, Yassen pinning Alex's wrists with one hand, the other hand gripping the boy's fair hair.

This time a bit of fear was apparent on Alex.

"You're not-" Alex broke off with a cough, "you're not really going to-"

"Rape you?" Yassen finished. Of course not. "Haven't decided yet."

He watched Alex clench his teeth, possibly the teen was nervous. More likely he was biting back a scathing reply.

"If I did decide to," Yassen continued, "well, you are a _Raven_ aren't you? You came here knowing full and well what could happen."

The scared glint in Alex's eyes was proof enough that the teen hadn't _really_ expected Yassen to try anything. _Arrogance and foolishness._ Alex didn't know him - couldn't possibly have any idea what he was willing to do.

Yassen tilted his head contemplatively. "You are pretty enough for a boy," and maybe it sounded like a compliment, but it made Alex shiver down to the bones with terror. "It would be ridiculously easy to find some people over in the East, maybe in South America, to sell you to. It would be just as easy for me to break your neck right this second." Yassen gripped Alex's hair even tighter, forcing him to bare his throat. "You're correct in saying that there isn't much stopping me from killing you, it would be pitifully easy. Care to see?"

Yes. No. Maybe. Yassen watched the conflicting thoughts pass through Alex's eyes. Alex didn't even know _what_ he wanted, what he expected, what had made him come after Yassen and push him. And it didn't matter anymore either, Yassen saw the thought cross Alex's mind. The teen thought Yassen was going to kill him.

A logical assumption, as he was pulling the teen's head just that little bit farther back in preparation. He watched Alex regulate his breathing, making it low and controlled. With the Russian's strength a sharp yank and twist would be enough. One clean snap and that was it. Quick, easy. Alex would be dead before he hit the ground. No more fighting. No more pain. Exhaling a shuddering breath, Alex relaxed into the assassin's grip.

Several seconds passed in tense silence before slowly, carefully, Yassen eased the tight hold on the boys hair. Then the hand fell away completely.

"You never react the way I expect you to."

Alex's eyes snapped open to find Yassen looking at him with an odd expression on his face, still very close.

Alex blinked slowly, maybe trying to come up with a suitable reaction, but it was like a heavy blanket had settled over all his senses. Yassen watched Alex gingerly touch the side of his head, like he couldn't feel anything but the phantom sensation of the hand gripping his hair, about to break his neck.

"Sorry."

Alex straightened up, changing his vulnerable expression to a glare. Yassen smiled then relaxed. Releasing Alex and stepping back, he examined the room. It was small, a decent size for the little hotel they were in.

There was a queen sized bed to his right, with a dark green duvet and more pillows than strictly necessary. There was a small bedside table with a lamp, a notepad, pen and alarm clock on top. Yassen guessed there was probably a N.I.V. Bible in the drawer. To Yassen's left was a small wooden desk and an office chair. A telephone rested on top and there was a lamp on a tall stand next to it.

Near the desk was a door, Yassen guessed it led to an en-suit bathroom. Behind him was the only exit, the same way they had come in. Unless, Yassen amended, Alex wanted to climb out the window, which was to Alex's direct right.

They were three floors up, and the outside wall would be slick with sea spray, but Yassen didn't doubt Alex could scale the building without hinder if he got the chance to try. He returned his gaze to the spy in question, who was still leaning against the wall, rubbing his throat and glaring at Yassen.

For a moment, Yassen considered leaving. He still had well over an hour to get away from the manhunt. But, he realized, MI6 wouldn't stop. They would continue to follow him, and while Yassen was confident he could evade '6 as long as necessary, they had Alex again.

He didn't doubt that they wouldn't hesitate to send Alex after him time and again. So he needed to send MI6 a message. He needed to send _Alex_ a message, too. This wasn't a world for children, and if Alex insisted on playing with fire, he would have to learn what it's like to get burned.

Yassen dropped his hands to his belt, slim fingers working the leather from the dull metal buckle. He kept his eyes on Alex, who was watching his movements with apprehension.

Buckle undone, he slid the leather from his belt loops and twisted the makeshift strap in his hand. He advanced on Alex, who to his credit, didn't so much as flinch.

Standing less than a foot from Alex, he reached out, tilting the boy's face to the side. Then, without warning, he drew back the belt and wiped it across Alex's cheek. Alex cried out, more in surprise than pain, and reached up to touch the stinging red mark left by Yassen.

Quickly, Yassen followed up, slamming the belt to either side of Alex's neck. Once again effectively cutting off Alex's breath. Alex looked up at Yassen, with apprehension and confusion. He didn't seem too worried about the belt at his throat.

Alex was strong headed, and Yassen knew he would have to go farther to get any sort of message into the young spy's thick skull. How far, exactly, would remain to be seen.

Yassen reached up, tangling his fingers into Alex's soft, fair hair. He slammed Alex's head back against the wall, dazing him, then pulled him away and launched him towards the bed.

Alex sprawled across the mattress, quickly recovering his senses and spinning around to face Yassen. Yassen shoved Alex onto his back, pinning the smaller body beneath his. Alex struggled, but Yassen was both bigger and more experienced.

He grabbed both of Alex's wrists, and dug his thumb into the _shuko_ pressure points. Alex tipped his head back and howled in pain.

For a moment, Yassen stopped to contemplate the neighbours. But he guessed that a small, backwater hotel like this was more than used to a few loud noises that kept people up at night.

He released his hold on the pressure points, and Alex yanked his wrists away, scrambling back from Yassen, gasping. Yassen gave Alex a moment of reprieve before grabbing his ankle and pulling Alex towards him.

Alex, ever the fighter, lashed out at Yassen with his free foot. He grabbed Alex's leg before it could connect and slammed his thumb into the _hai-kwa_ pressure point on Alex's Achilles' tendon. Alex shouted, twisting in Yassen's grasp.

The boy scrambled, turning away from Yassen, and tried to pull away from him. Yassen simply reached up and yanked Alex by the hip bone, shoving and sending Alex tumbling face first into the centre of the bed.

He pushed Alex into the mattress, hitting three bundles of nerves on his back in quick succession; first over one of Alex's kidneys, then moving to the small of his back, and finally between his shoulder blades.

Yassen heard Alex let out a sharp sob, watching as Alex brought up one hand to his face. Stifling his cries or wiping away tears.

A wave of guilt hit him, almost enough to stop the punishment there. But, while Alex was hurt, he wasn't so bad off to stop him from continuing with MI6. Or from coming after him again.

Yassen had studied extensively with Dr. Three and knew he could quickly bring grown men to their knees. Alex, on the other hand, would be more of a challenge.

Yassen crawled up, putting his knees on either side of Alex's hips. He reached up, pressing two fingers to the side of Alex's neck on the _matsukazé_ and _tsien-tsing_ respectively. He held there until Alex was a squirming mess, writhing underneath him, nonsensical words tumbling from his mouth.

He let go, giving Alex one second to get his bearings before he flipped him over, grabbing both of Alex's hands. Using the belt that was still in his hand, Yassen threaded the end of the leather strap through the metal buckle, making a loop. He put the loop around Alex's wrist, binding them together. Then, using the tail end of the belt, he jerked Alex's arms up and secured them to the headboard.

Alex's eyes were glazed with pain, but he was still with it enough to struggle. Yassen placed the palm of his hand over Alex's solar plexus, simultaneously pushing down on the _kyosen_ and _tsiou-oé_ pressure points.

Every muscle in Alex's body tensed as the bundle of nerves fired off signals of _pain_ and _ouch_ and _hurts_.

Alex wrenched his hands down, the belt cutting into the fragile skin around his wrists. Blood ran down Alex's forearms from under the leather strap.

As Alex recovered, gasping in agony, Yassen grabbed onto the collar of Alex's shirt. In one swift motion, Yassen tore the material from Alex's body, discarding it behind him. He immediately took advantage of the better view of Alex's body, placing two knuckles below Alex's belly button and right above his waistband.

He pushed his knuckles into the _myojo_ on Alex's abdomen, feeling his stomach muscles tense and spasm.

He then immediately moved to press above Alex's heart, just below a star shaped scar. He pushed his strong fingers against the _tran-tchong_ until Alex was screaming without pause.

Yassen continued calmly, firing up pressure point after pressure point. Alex was jerking and squirming beneath him. He was mumbling and crying out, yelling in several languages; though Yassen noted that Alex never begged. He didn't hear the words _please_ or _stop_ pass through Alex's lips once.

Blood kept dropping from the cuts on Alex's wrist, pooling on the pillow above Alex. Some of the thick red fluid ran down the pillow, staining Alex's light blond hair.

Tears were falling from Alex's tightly shut eyes. Yassen reached up with both hands, touching Alex's cheeks. He softly brushed away the tears, before arranging his fingers across Alex's face.

He put his thumbs on the centre of his forehead, his pointer fingers on each of his temples, and his middle, ring and pinky fingers below Alex's cheekbones.

Yassen took a deep breath, allowing Alex the same luxury, then pressed upon the _uto_ , _kasumi_ and _el-menn_ nerve points simultaneously.

Alex stopped breathing, his whole body arched up from the mattress; his mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out. Yassen held it until Alex started turning blue from lack of oxygen.

When he let go, Alex physically collapsed. Yassen moved off of the boy. He pushed himself off the bed, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. He glanced back at Alex, who was shuddering and sharply sucking in breath after breath, then made his way slowly to the door.

He put his hand on the door knob, and checked his watch. It had been near six when Yassen had first shoved Alex against the wall in the corridor. At that time, he had estimated an hour and twenty five minutes before MI6's imminent arrival. Over an hour of that allotted time had been used.

Yassen sighed, it felt as though it hadn't been nearly that long, yet also that it had been far longer.

Yassen paused for another moment or so before turning the doorknob to exit. He stopped halfway through the motion as he heard the creak of bedsprings beside him.

Glancing over his shoulder, Yassen was surprised to see Alex sitting up. Hands free and belt discarded to the foot of the bed. He was shivering, though he had pulled the duvet up around him.

He cradled his bloody wrists to his bare chest, staring down at his lap and refusing to look at Yassen. Blood stains surrounded Alex, on the bed and on his skin.

Some had dried into patches of black crust in his hair.

There were tear tracks running down his cheeks, and as Yassen watched, Alex quickly wiped them away, leaving watery stripes of red under his eyes. It looked a lot like war paint.

Alex took a few deep breaths, calming himself. Yassen watched as Alex mentally pushed the last hour behind a wall, hiding it and ignoring it. Clearly, Alex was more than used to compartmentalizing. He hadn't thought that Alex could pull up a mask quite so quickly, MI6 must have really taken a toll.

Yassen sighed inaudibly. So much for teaching the boy a lesson. How thick headed could one get? He removed his hand from the door knob, re-locking it, and walked back over to where Alex was curled in on himself.

He reached out, placing his clean hands over Alex's red ones. Alex flinched back slightly, still avoiding Yassens gaze.

"Don't do that," Yassen whispered softly, though it sounded loud and screeching in the now silent room. The first voiced noise after Alex's screams.

Alex's watery brown eyes flickered up slightly, and he spoke in a cracked voice, "Don't do what?"

Yassen gently ran his fingers along the pulse point of Alex's wrist, he felt Alex's heart jump slightly, and let the bloody hand fall to the bed. Yassen's own fingers were now slick with the red liquid.

"Don't put on a mask," he said, as gently as he could. "Don't put up barriers, don't forget."

A flash of defiance appeared in Alex's down turned eyes. Really, Alex seemed to be more angry and annoyed than hurt or scared. "What else am I meant to do?" His voice had a bit of its old fire back, but it was still rough and scratchy. Kid's really could bounce back quickly, which did kind of ruin Yassen's attempt at teaching.

"Learn from it. Remember how you feel right now, and figure out how to never feel this way again. Go home. And next time MI6 come to you, say no. I'm the one who did this to you, but MI6 put you here. Never let them do it again." Yassen placed two fingers on Alex's chin, tilting his head up and leaving a streak of bright red behind. "As awful as this has been, it could have been worse. If you continue, next time, it will be."

Alex looked Yassen in the eye, he could see the gears turning. Alex was trying to work out whether that was a threat, or warning. A mixed look entered Alex's eyes as he landed on the correct conclusion. It was both.

"As if it's that easy." Tears of frustration welled in Alex's eyes, and he angrily dashed them away.

"Just say no, Alex."

Alex let out a humourless laugh, breaking into a small coughing fit. "This isn't a safe sex lecture, Yassen. You're probably one of the smartest people I know, and you're _still_ an idiot."

He raised an eyebrow, but Alex was not deterred.

"Don't you think I've tried? They own me."

Yassen nodded. "They have your assets. Your money, your house, your guardianship. But you're smart, I think you can get around those things."  
Alex had gotten away once - all the way to America - he could certainly do it again. MI6 were clever, but he'd be willing to bet that Alex was more so.

"That's not what I meant." Alex had slipped past frustrated and into icy anger. "They _own_ me. My whole life. And not just mine, either." Alex met Yassen's eyes with a steely look. The boy seemed a little confused at why he was telling all this to a man that just tortured him, but maybe Alex was simply out of people to ask for help. "I've already lost Jack, and Ian and my parents and _so_ many others. I don't have a lot of people left, but I intend to keep them safe. If I say no, they're the ones that suffer." Alex put a hand to his chest, breathing hard at the strain of talking.

"If you're gone, MI6 have no reason to hurt them." He assumed Alex was talking about the Pleasures, maybe even that Harris kid.

"They'll catch me in seconds. I haven't got a chance." Alex really sounded like he believed that. But disappearing is easier than one might think.

"They aren't all knowing, Alex. They aren't God." If Alex tried hard enough, there was nothing '6 would be able to do.

Alex snorted, "They might as well be." He brought up a hand to rub at his slowly bruising neck.

Yassen's eyes focused on a small prick on the side of Alex's neck. He had previously discarded it as a simple skin blemish, a freckle. Upon closer inspection, Yassen realized it was the entry point of a syringe.

Yassen frowned, raising his hand to the spot. He rested his wrist on Alex's shoulder and let his thumb run over small wound. Alex cringed slightly, but didn't move from Yassen's touch.

"What is it?" Yassen asked, letting his fingers rest on the shadows of the bruises he had made.

"Nanoparticles, or something along those lines," Alex answered. He didn't seem to trust Yassen, looking like he was trying to figure out his angle, but it didn't stop him from answering truthfully. "They got the idea from Invisible Sword. It doesn't make me do anything, but if I run, it'll kill or incapacitate me. They injected Tom and the Pleasures too. I can't risk them getting hurt if I run."

Yassen nodded in understanding. He realized he had been stupid and naive to think that all they had over Alex was money and a home.  
Alex was far too selfless, and thought himself far too invincible, for the threat to be to him alone.

He sighed internally; he probably could have saved Alex a lot of pain if he'd figured that out sooner, or if he'd asked. But Yassen was always of the mentality to act first, ask questions later. Oh well, live and learn.

Yassen reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a small notebook and pen. He scribbled a simple message, and tore off the page.

"Whatever they injected you with will be letting off signals. MI6 will be tracking you. They'll know we're here by now. I estimate it'll be fifteen minutes before they're able to storm the place. I need to be gone by then." Alex nodded, but Yassen wasn't done yet. "Tell them what happened, maybe embellish it a bit?" Yassen watched for Alex to understand, then continued, "then say that I knocked you out and ran. Give them this." He handed Alex the note and watched the serious brown eyes skim over the neat cursive. It simply had a date, time and location, signed off with a -Y.

"Embellish? What, you expect them to believe that you're _this_ kinky?" Alex gestured to the bruises and distinct marks of being tied up. The young spy seemed to have bounced back to his usual fiery sarcasm remarkably quickly - and also seemed to have chosen to trust Yassen, despite what had happened. Alex would never cease to surprise him.

Yassen laughed, "They'll believe whatever you lead them to." Yassen tilted his head, really taking in the extensiveness of the injuries. "At least I'm not a furry."

It was Alex's turn to laugh, though it was more a croak of humour, "Hey now, don't kink shame."

Alex looked over the note again. "So I give them this note, and then what?"

"Then, they'll send you after me again."

"Why?" Why was Yassen helping him?

"Because, Alex," Yassen answered, "despite how _good_ you are in this life, I don't believe you belong."

"So what? All this," Alex gestured at his bruising face, "was what? You attacked me, now you want to help me?"

"I'm always trying to help you, Alex. But now I know how."

Alex snorted, "You could have just asked. You know, instead of all this." Again, he waved his bloody fingers in the general direction of his bruises.

"Point taken. I'll remember to use my words next time."

* * *

 **AN:**

Yassen is such an interesting character, but so hard to write!

Please review and tell me what you think!

I'm currently writing a longer story with Alex and Yassen, so if you have any tips on how to write their relationship I'd really welcome it!

Constructive criticism is always welcome, but being rude is not. Please be polite!


	2. Past

Alex watched through glassy eyes as Yassen left the room, closing the door tightly behind him. The lock clicked automatically, leaving Alex alone and isolated. He was sure MI6 had managed to evacuate the civilians by now, which only added to his feeling of being cut off. He waited a moment, clutching his chest, still trying to remember how to breath.

Once he'd gotten his senses back, he pushed the blood covered duvet away from him and rose unsteadily to his feet. He stumbled to the dingy en suite bathroom, propping himself up at the sink. Red stains transferred themselves from his hands to the white ceramic basin. He spat a mouthful of blood down the drain. He was starting to feel sorry for the poor maids, but he guessed they had probably seen worse.

Alex turned on the tap and let the water stream out and become warm. He scrubbed at his hands, grabbing a face cloth to clean under his nails. Dipping his head down, he splashed the water onto his face, rivets of the liquid ran through his hair and down the back of his neck.

Alex cupped his hands and gathered as much water as he could, pouring it slowly over his head like a baptism. He ran damp fingers through his hair, nails scratching his scalp and tugging at the roots as he encountered sweat and dry blood.

After a few moments of twisting his fingers, as well as a few pumps of soap and plenty of water, his hair was more or less grime free. At least, it smelled less like blood and more like the sunset flower of the cheap hotel hand soap.

That done, Alex flicked the handles of the tap, shutting the stream of water to a sad drizzle. He discarded the mucky face cloth and grabbed a slightly larger hand towel and rubbed his hair and face roughly - then he tore the cloth into strips, wrapping his wrists roughly and praying they wouldn't get infected. The crappy little hotel wasn't exactly clean. Alex braced himself, then looked up at the mirror for the first time.

"Bloody hell," he whispered in a hoarse voice. It was an accurate depiction of how he looked.

His hair was stained pink, like a bad dye job, as was the skin up his arms. Bruises were rapidly forming on his light skin. A butterfly shaped bruise bloomed from the centre of his forehead, the tip of its wings stopping just shy of his temples, which had deep bruises of their own.

The dark smudges on his temples mixed with the dark smudges under his eyes, making almost a complete circle when combined with the discolouration on his forehead.

He looked like a fucking panda.

There were two other forming bruises, almost perfectly symmetrical under each cheekbone. They stretched up to his towards his ears and in an arc to the corner of his mouth. The pattern mimicked that of the Jokers lipstick.

The bruises were mostly a pinky-red, with a bit of blue creeping in. Alex knew that they would turn a dark purple before beginning to heal.

Alex leaned closer to the mirror, examining another mark on his face. The perfectly straight red streak from Yassen's belt. He definitely wasn't a prettier sight up close. His entire face felt like it was throbbing in time with his heart.

Alex took a step back, still rocking slightly, as if he'd just gotten off of a boat. His stomach twisted and rolled. He'd never experienced sea sickness before, but he imagined it felt like this. Like a lesser version of the time he was shot into space, which wasn't a pleasant memory. His eyes drifted back to the smudged mirror.

His chest was a collection of forming bruises as well. The most prominent ones were a V shaped mark below his navel, a red hand print on his side, a near perfect circle blooming from his solar plexus, and a crescent shaped contusion just below his old sniper gunshot wound.

Alex assumed his back was in a similar state, but he couldn't find the energy to check.

Crack-snap-BANG.

Alex flinched slightly at the loud noise, raising his arms painfully to defend himself. The door to the main room slammed inwards, splintering around the lock. A dent from the doorknob appeared on the plaster, sickly yellow wall. Four bulky camo-clad men had burst into the room, guns scanning.

When the soldier closest to the bathroom noticed Alex, he raised his gun slightly. Alex moved his arms from a fighting stance to a stance of surrender. The SAS soldier, who Alex now recognized as Terrier, lowered his gun. Eyes roamed, taking in his blood tinged hair and skin, as well as his bruised face and torso.

"You look like shit kid. That bastard near by?"

It couldn't have been more than five minutes since Yassen had left. "I don't know." Alex said, truthfully or not. Five minutes wasn't much, but it was more than enough for Yassen Gregorovich.

The leader of Terrier's unit, Dane, spoke into a comm. device that was pinned to his shoulder. "W unit to base. Target unaccounted for. Agent Rider found, third floor, room number three-one-one."

A vague 'copy that' could be heard back before the voice started issuing orders. Alex could hear units L and O being ordered to split and take the four compass points and search for 'the target'. Unit I was told to continue moving civilians. W unit was told not to leave Alex's side. As well as to begin a debrief.

"What the hell happened, kid?" Dane asked in the way of a debrief.

Alex hesitated. He wasn't sure if he was going to follow Yassen's vague orders - could the assassin be trusted? Probably not... - but all the same, he didn't need to spill his guts here. Not to these people. He didn't count the SAS as friends.

"I found the target. He followed me to the room like we thought. Then he knocked me out and legged it."

Alex knew the best way to lie was to keep it simple. It might not work in the official debrief, but soldiers were used to gruff, short replies.

"Right away? He just knocked you out and ran?" Of course the man sounded skeptical.

Alex shook his head, raising a hand at the pain it caused "No, not right away. He..." Alex trailed off, letting the bruises on his face and the shirt that was in pieces by the bed speak for him. "He knocked me out after."

Alex watched Dane swallow, clearly uncomfortable. His soldier side conflicting with his morals. "When do you think that happened?"

Alex made a show of glancing at the alarm clock. It glowed 7:13.

"Maybe around 6:30?" Alex let a bit of uncertainty creep into his voice. "I'm not sure, it's not like I was counting." He added sarcastically, keeping up the character of snarky teen that the SAS and MI6 agents were used to.

W unit seemed to accept this answer, like Alex knew they would. It would mean Alex had been knocked out about half an hour ago, and give MI6 half an hour of uncategorized time to deal with. Thirty minutes wasn't long, but when talking about intelligence work, it was eons.

Thirty minutes also seemed like a plausible amount of time for Alex to have been unconscious. Furthermore, it meant Yassen had been alone with Alex for the first part of the hour.

Any less time and '6 would never have believed Yassen could have hurt him so much.

There was a crackle from the soldiers radios, and seconds later another SAS unit entered. I unit and W unit escorted Alex from the building, putting him in a black Aston Martin and driving him to their Op. base. No one spoke on the ride back, which suited Alex just fine.

Since Yassen had left, he hadn't felt much of anything; he had felt stunned and emotionless. Now though, the shock seemed to be wearing off. He appreciated the silence that let him sort through his mass of feelings until they reached the base.

Mrs. Jones was waiting there, but she ignored Alex in favour of the SAS units. She took W and I unit to debrief first, not that Alex minded as it gave him a suitable amount of time to come up with lies.

He didn't necessarily trust Yassen, and he certainly didn't forgive the man, but he trusted MI6 even less. Alex thought it might be worth dancing to Yassen's tune for the time being.

Anyway, Mrs. Jones wasn't exactly a receptacle for his trust either. He wasn't sure if it came with experience, or maybe if it was just a curse of the directors job, but Jones became more and more like Blunt everyday. To the point that Alex barely recognized her anymore; associating her easily with the Grey Man.

When Mrs. Jones called him in, he allowed himself to look slightly irritated at being kept waiting. Mrs. Jones didn't acknowledge Alex's annoyance, she didn't look terribly chuffed herself.

Alex took a seat without being asked. He sat, back straight, trying to exude confidence. Mrs. Jones sat across from him. She intertwined her fingers and rested them in the desk between them.

The briefing was - surprisingly - as simple as Yassen had said. Alex hardly had to say a thing, letting Jones draw her own conclusions. He was sure to express his anger at the failed honey trap, saying that he had done his job, so where had MI6 been? Jones gave a half hearted apology, and seemed angry herself that Yassen had slipped through their fingers.

The glint of annoyance in her eyes faded when Alex brought up the note Yassen had given him. He said that he had found it on the pillow next to him upon waking, and Jones accepted it quite quickly. He handed over the piece of parchment from the hotel notepad, letting Jones examine the neat handwriting of Yassen's.

"June 23, 7:00pm, Rockway Hotel, Canterbury," Jones read allowed. She nodded slightly, as if pleased and forgetting that she was supposed to be sceptical of Alex. "Alright Alex, that will be all. You can head to the infirmary now. I'll make sure to keep you informed."

Alex took the dismissal, rising from his seat and turning to leave.

"Oh, Alex," Mrs. Jones called in afterthought, not even looking up from the note to speak to him, "should I order a Rape Kit?"

Alex scoffed. "Why? It's not like I'll be pressing charges."

Mrs. Jones nodded absently, and Alex left quickly.

He paused just outside the door. His muscles had gone stiff from sitting still so long, and one of his freshly scabbed wrist contusions had ripped open.

He was surprised that Jones had accepted his story so easily - although to be fair, he hadn't really lied. He had omitted the truth, but mostly his ragged appearance spoke for him. He guessed that Jones didn't think he would dare attempt to deceive her; anyway, she could sniff out lies like a bloodhound.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he set off towards the makeshift infirmary area. An SAS medic was waiting for him with a roll of bandages in hand. He directed Alex to a plastic chair like you would find in a classroom. The medic - who didn't bother introducing himself - started unraveling the shredded towel strips from his wrists. A bottle of some kind of antiseptic was pulled out; the medic mumbled that 'this will sting' before applying a liberal amount to his cuts.

Alex let out a low hiss, but let the man clean away the blood. A thin, odd smelling paste was spread on his tender skin. Then the clean linen was tightly secured.

He was also given a tube of cream to be spread on his rapidly forming bruises twice a day.

As he exited the medic's area, he noted the sudden lack of people. The car's belonging to the other MI6 agents had disappeared - including the one Alex himself had arrived in - and even most of the army trucks had vanished. There was still two vehicles left, one looked like it belong to W unit and was the one he chose. It was perfectly typical of '6 to abandon him now the mission was over.

Dane from W unit was conversing with a sergeant that he didn't recognize. He waited at a respectable distance until the green-clad sergeant noticed him and beckoned him forward. Alex explained his plight, and while the sergeant didn't seem to happy about it he agreed to ferry him to London.

He climbed in, squishing himself in the far corner and ignoring the other units as they piled in. He got a few questioning looks, lingering gazes on his battered face, but no one mentioned anything. He was grateful to be left alone.

The surge of emotions he had felt in the car earlier had faded to a simple question: could Yassen be trusted?

His immediate conclusion was no, of course not. Yassen Gregorovich, the assassin that had killed his uncle and thrown him to the bulls is the last person he should trust. But then again... Yassen had always given him a fighting's chance. He spared him on top of that building with Sayle and again on Air Force One, and then again today. It would have been much easier for the assassin to dispose of him, yet here he was, battered and bruised but alive.

Even his injuries... Yes Yassen had hurt him, quite unnecessarily, but Alex could see that it was his attempt to turn Alex off the spy life. Yassen hadn't known how completely MI6 controlled his life and had assumed Alex was there by choice. He had then preceded to 'teach Alex a lesson'. Other people had of course attempted to teach Alex a lesson in the past, but unlike Yassen, those villain's had enjoyed it. Some had found it quite fun.

Yassen hadn't taken an ounce of pleasure from hurting Alex - and that alone made him different from every other 'bad guy' he'd ever faced. So maybe he could trust the assassin, for now at least.

* * *

A fortnight later, Alex woke up to the noise of persistent knocking. Used to these kind of rude awakenings, Alex took his time rolling out of bed. The banging on his front door grew more and more rapid until it resembled the tapping of a wood pecker.

He dressed lazily, pulling on black army trousers and a black t shirt. Looking in the mirror, he thought the outfit was indicative of his mood.

He made his way to the front door, jamming his feet into a pair of black army boots and waiting until the knocking came to a full halt; this of course was the sign that his door was about to be kicked down. It had happened an irritating amount of times. He swung open the door.

Now he was face to face with a drab looking agent. The man was dressed in civilian garb so as not to draw too much attention, and his hair had been dyed a boring, mousy brown. The smallest speck of dye could be seen on the cartilage of the agents ear.

The agent didn't speak, simply led the way to an awaiting car parked on the curb. Alex followed without complaint.

The drive to the Royal and General was made in silence - there were few instances outside of work that required Alex to speak, so the quiet was becoming something of a friend to him. A comfort.

The last full length conversation Alex had had was the debriefing with Mrs. Jones.

It looked like his next conversation would also be with Jones, as they pulled into the banks parking lot and Alex made his way to the familiar office.

"Why am I here?" Alex asked in annoyance. He already knew exactly why he was here, but it wouldn't do to advertise it.

"Yassen Gregorovich." Mrs. Jones sat at her desk, once again in her natural habitat of the Royal and General. She looked a lot happier than she had during their last encounter.

He let an angry grimace pass over his face. "Don't tell me you want to try another honey trap. The last one didn't work."

"We didn't catch him, no. But I wouldn't say we failed entirely. After all, he left this." Mrs. Jones dropped the note Yassen had left. It looked slightly more tattered around the edges, probably from being read over and over again. The words in black ink still stood out starkly, though.

"So what?" Alex asked, a bit of teenage angst slipping through.

"So, this time we don't have to search an entire city. We know where, when, and most importantly, why. To see you." Jones didn't seem to find it odd that Yassen would want to see him again - she seemed to be under the impression that Yassen had some kind of weird obsession with him. To the outside eye, Alex could admit that it looked that way. The constantly running into him, mission after mission, and then letting him go each time.

"But why do you need me? Just storm the place." He knew that wasn't a possibility, but he didn't want to look too eager for the mission.

Jones sighed, adopting the look of an adult talking to a child. Which was accurate. "It's a hotel, Alex. Gregorovich will be expecting people there, we can't tip him off by clearing the area before he gets there. We need time to get civilians out after he shows up," she paused, "we just need you to go in for a second. Find him and get him somewhere private. It shouldn't be too hard," she said meaningfully. "Distract him for thirty minutes, tops, then we'll be there."

Alex sighed, rolling his eyes to the heavens. "Not like I've got much choice, have I?"

Mrs. Jones smiled.

* * *

 **AN:**

Please review! Constructive criticism is welcome, but be polite!


	3. Future

On the morning of June 22nd, Yassen arrived in Canterbury.

A taxi had driven him from the airport to a dingy motel room inland from the Channel. He stayed there one night, getting everything in order.

An associate of his had gone to the Ipswich shipyard the previous week. A couple of American contacts had spoken to all three Pleasures, and assured Yassen that everything was in order.

Another contact in London had spoken to Tom Harris and assured the same thing. An agent, a mole in MI6, had confirmed that Director Jones planned on sending Alex to the Rockway Hotel.

At 6:00 on June 23rd, Yassen Gregorovich hailed a cab, giving the address of an innocent sounding seaside hotel.

The taxi driver didn't give a second glance at the athletic looking blond, wearing dark thermal clothing with a high class camera dangling from his neck. The young man looked like one of the dozen landscape photographers that Ipswich saw during the warmer summer months.

They pulled into the parking lot of the Rockway. Yassen payed with a fake card, naming him Adam Bryce. He tipped the cabbie, and went to climb out into the shaky grey drizzle.

"You be careful out on those rocks, ye hear?" the elderly cabbie warned, "slippery with the sea, they are!"

"I'll keep that in mind," Yassen smiled pleasantly, "thank you very much."

"Yer mighty welcome, young 'un, good luck with them pictures taking," the cabbie nodded smartly and Yassen took the cue to close the car door.

Hitching his hood up against the light rain (and against any watching cameras) Yassen made his way into the hotel. Water pooled in the multiple pot holes on the path to the hotel, forcing Yassen to dance around them.

The young concierge welcomed him into the lobby in an automatic kind of way with a forced smile - clearly it was nearing the end of her shift, and she was struggling against encroaching boredom. Her smile was tight, and Yassen thought _if you keep making that face it'll get stuck like that_. A family of four had just checked out, the youngest child giving him a toothy grin as they passed by. There was also an elderly couple sitting on the couches by a dying fire, reading yesterday's newspaper.

He signed in with the same card as he'd given the taxi driver, and went upstairs to claim his room on the second floor. Once out of sight, he snapped his ID and credit card in half, tossing them in a nearby bin. Once he reached his room, he gave it a swift once over - checking for any hidden bugs or surveillance, but coming up empty handed. He didn't bother removing his shoes or coat, he wouldn't be staying for the three nights he had booked.

Yassen strolled over to the window, the ocean view was pleasant and gave him a good look at the small dock behind the hotel. Just a single jut of old planks sticking out into the small harbour.

There were a few little dinghies and fisherman boats moored on the rickety dock. The sun was blocked with rain clouds, but the Channel water had calmed considerably; the boats bobbed lightly on the waves. He also examined the window itself - thin glass that barely kept the chill at bay, a simple latch holding it shut. He stepped back from his inspection, glancing at his phone for the exact time.

The note had said 7:00, but he had predicted a margin for error. It was six and a half minutes after seven o'clock. If his intel. was correct (and it usually was) Alex should be here any moment.

As if summoned by the thought, Yassen heard a ding signalling the arrival of the lift, followed by the light tread of Alex's unconcealed footsteps in the hallway. He listened closely for any foreign noises, but quickly deduced that Alex was alone. Moving silently across the room, he placed a hand on the door handle.

He opened the door with a soft creek, and Alex stepped into view. The spy looked nervous, like he wasn't sure exactly what he had gotten himself into. Two weeks after their last encounter, Yassen couldn't decide if Alex looked better, or worse for wear.

The lesions he had left on Alex's face had faded from what was a bright and angry red last he had seen, to the pale yellows and greens he saw now. Alex's skin had a fading tan, and he was starting to look pale and ghostly; the clear lack of sun Alex was receiving made his bruises stand out in some places, but fade in others. A few more days would see them gone altogether - and maybe a little sunshine would do the kid some good... but he could worry about that later.

The bags under Alex's eyes, which he had taken note of previously, seemed to have lessened slightly; though that might just be a trick of the rooms poor lighting.

Yassen reached out a hand to Alex's face. Alex backed off, eyeing him wearily. Defensively. He probably deserved that. Clearly, their last encounter had not been forgiven or forgotten.

Persistently, he stepped forward, eventually succeeding in capturing Alex's face. Alex surrendered (albeit reluctantly) to his inspection, glaring through narrowed eyes; only the slightest sliver of brown showing through his lashes. He ran his hand across the bruises that matched his fingers oh so perfectly.

"Let me see your wrist," he demanded, rather than asked.

The younger blond smiled slightly, ruefully handing over his bandaged wrists for inspection. Yassen turned them over, running his thumbs on Alex's inner wrists. He found the ends of the wraps and unraveled them. Vivid red scabs were revealed, but there was no bleeding.

"Why am I here, Yassen?" Alex asked softly.

Yassen frowned. The smudges under Alex's eyes may have lessened, but everything about him screamed _tired_. He wondered about what kind of medical treatment Alex had received; probably minimal, knowing MI6. He quickly discarded the thought: worry about sentiments later.

"I looked into your problem, I thought it the least I could do," Yassen answered, eyeing Alex's bruised face meaningfully.

Alex snorted disdainfully. "Oh yeah, Mr. Anger Management Problems? And what did you find?" Alex was still speaking in barely more than a whisper, though he sounded haughty now.

He paused before answering (for dramatic effect). "I found the research Julia Rothman had during her last assignment."

"Invisible sword?" Alex's eyes widened comically. Yassen refrained from smiling.

Yassen nodded, almost smuggly. "It seems, that when Rothman decided to inject you with the same nanoshells as all of the other kids, the other board members asked her to first develop an antidote, or self destruct. It seems some of the board members believed you would be useful if they didn't alienate you. They didn't want you killed unless you turned out untrustworthy." Alex had turned out untrustworthy in the most spectacular way.

"There's an antidote?" A spark of hope lit in Alex's eyes. He didn't seem like he wanted to believe Yassen, maybe afraid of being disappointed.

Yassen dispelled those worries when he nodded and grabbed the camera from around his neck. He unscrewed the lens covering, revealing that the inside of the camera was hollow and battery free.

In fact, the only thing inside the camera was a small hypodermic syringe, a cotton ball and a small roll of medical tape. Yassen pulled it out and handed it to Alex for inspection, then returned his hands to their resting place on Alex's cheeks. He could feel Alex's muscles twitch as the boy tried not to smile.

Alex held the glass cylinder delicatly. He turned the needle in his hands, staring unblinkingly at the one inch cubed of pale blue liquid. Bits of light refracted around the tube.

"It'll work? On whatever it is MI6 gave me?" Alex seemed to be trying hard to be skeptical, but Yassen could tell that the boy believed it would work.

"Yes," Yassen was positive. His man inside SO had tested it.

Alex smiled, then hesitated. "Tom? And the Pleasure's..." he drifted off. Obviously Alex wouldn't do anything if it left his friends vulnerable to '6. Yassen had known that.

"Taken care of," Yassen assured.

Alex looked at him sharply. "How do you mean? If the nano shells had been deactivated, '6 would know."

Yassen shook his head, "They haven't been deactivated yet. They will be in exactly..." he looked at his watch, "five minutes and forty eight seconds."

"How?"

"A few colleagues of mine are at each of their respective houses. The situation has been explained to your friends, and we've agreed that at precisely 7:15pm, 11:15am California time, they will each take the injection simultaneously. As will you." Alex smiled at Yassen, "there is approximately sixty seconds margin for error, but all our clocks have been synced. We should have the timing down to the second."

Alex's smile widened. "Why are you doing all this for me?" The boy seemed unable to comprehend someone doing something to help him, as opposed to hurt him.

"Because, Sasha, you deserve better than your country has given you. MI6 has done you a disservice. I just want to right a wrong." Mostly the truth, anyway.

"You've committed a lot of wrongs yourself," Alex pointed out.

Yassen smirked slightly, "Point taken. And the good things I do won't make up for all the bad. But equally, the bad things don't have to tarnish the good. The world is not black or white, I like to live in the grey."

"Alright," Alex reached up, laying delicate fingers over Yassen's, which were still cradling Alex's beat up face.

"We've got four minutes left, what do you want to do with them?" Alex cocked his head in a mockingly flirtatious way. Teasing Yassen for his past treatment.

Yassen laughed, propelling Alex gently towards the single bed in the room. Alex leaned back, smiling up at Yassen with laughter in his eyes. He thunked down on the springy mattress next to Alex, vividly remembering the last time they had been in a bed together. Neither that time, nor this time, would turn out the way MI6 planned.

"Give me your arm?" Alex dropped the playful smirk, shifting to sit cross legged. He held out his left arm for Yassen to take.

Yassen wrapped his fingers around Alex's slender wrist, noticing again the newly scabbed wounds layered upon old scars that circled Alex's wrists like bracelets. He pulled Alex's arm straight, rubbing at a vein on his forearm until it rose slightly. He passed his phone to Alex, having him use his free arm to hold it up.

A countdown had taken up the vast majority of the screen. Bright neon numbers flashing over a black background. Yassen watched it creep towards zero. At sixty seconds, Yassen placed the steralized point of the needle over Alex's blue vein.

At ten seconds, Yassen broke the skin; Alex didn't even flinch. At zero, he plunged the contents of the syringe into Alex's bloodstream. One boy in London and a girl and her parents in San Francisco received the same.

Yassen pulled the needle away, quickly taping a prepared cotton ball onto the small well of blood. He pushed his thumb against the tape covered cotton, trying to prevent bruising.

"Is there anything on you?" He questioned Alex. He doubted it, but it never hurt to ask. Anything MI6 could track would have to be left behind.

"No, guess they didn't think it was necessary." Alex pushed Yassen's thumb away with his own, applying pressure to the puncture site.

Yassen nodded, satisfied. "Let's go then." He got off the bed, pulling Alex up by the elbow.

"Where?" Alex's natural curiosity shone through.

"You've trusted me this far," he pointed out, "let me lead a little longer?"

Alex hesitated, but common sense won out. MI6 would realize that the connection was cut any second, and would hasten to capture them both. They needed to be in the wind.

"Okay, you lead."

Yassen led the way to the window, it was two floors from the ground, but in the low built seaside hotel, the fall wasn't far. He was confident that both him and Alex could handle it easily. Both of them had handled worse, after all.

He unhooked the latch and shoved the window up. He swung out onto the window sill, glancing back once to be sure that Alex would follow, then dropped to the pavement. He took a step away, then tilted his head up.

Splashes of rain water fell from the grey sky into his eyes, but he could still make out the silhouette of Alex sliding out the window. Alex dropped swiftly, landing legs bent like a cat. Then the boy rose to his full height.

Yassen reached out and wrapped his arm around Alex's shoulders. Alex tilted his head up against the rain to look at him. The question was evident on his face, but he said nothing.

Yassen led the way to the small dock at the the back of the hotel. The pair passed the dinghies and fisherman boats and stopped at the end of the pier. A familiar boat awaited, bobbing rhythmically in the water.

The _Fer de Lance_.

The small ship named after a venomous pit viper. One of Yassens personal favourite modes of transportation. It was the ship Alex had spotted Yassen on over a year ago, which had led to one of their earlier encounters. He recalled a raging bull and an ill fitting matadors outfit.

Later, and more recently, it had narrowed down Yassen's presence to a few kilometres of coast, inciting their less than pleasant reunion.

Now, it would carry them away from English shores. Sail them away from a country that hadn't been particularly kind to either of them. Not, Yassen thought, that they (mostly him) had been much kinder to it. England would probably be glad to see the back of him.

Alex smiled wryly up at him, rainwater dripping down his face and into the collar of his shirt. Yassen reached over and tugged the hood of Alex's jacket up, shielding him from the precipitation.

Together, the spy and the assassin climbed on board the small but steady ship. Yassen led the way to the roofed captains area, passing the room that Alex had once tried to shoot him in, and started the engines and routers. Alex watched, eyes skimming over the machinery with fascination.

"Where to now?" Alex asked.

"Well, we are just a hop skip and a jump away from Belgium and France," the most logical plan would be to cross the Channel as fast as humanly possible. Put Britain behind them as efficiently as possible.

Alex nodded agreeably. "Two countries that I know well, we could easily disappear there."

"My thoughts exactly, however-"

"MI6 would expect it."

"So naturally-"

"We'll go anywhere but there."

"Precisely." Alex always was a clever kid. Too capable for the spy life for his own good.

Alex laughed. It seemed like a sound he hadn't made in a while. "So really then, where to?"

"I was thinking, circle up north east for a bit. Spend a quick layover in Scotland and figure out where MI6 _think_ we are. Then maybe up to Iceland. Or over to Norway. If we make our way up the North Sea to the Baltic Sea, we could find our way to Russia." Yes, he had put quite a bit of thought into their next move. This had all been assuming that Alex had wanted to stay with him, but that had seemed to go without question.

"Where I'm sure you have plenty of contacts and resources to disappear?"

"That would be convenient." Yassen tried to keep a straight face. Like Alex, he wasn't used to spending any amount of time smiling, laughing or joking. He found the change of pace was something he could get used to.

Alex nodded, looking out at the dark horizon. The waves bled into dark, open sky. "So, second star to the right, and on until morning?"

"To live will be an awfully big adventure," he quoted back.

Alex stepped forward, coming to stand next to him at the wheel. Yassen felt Alex's body heat through the thin army jacket.

Alex pushed back his hood, looking out upon the clear, endless sea. The clouds, which were concentrated over the mainland, were few and far between out at sea. He could see the nights full moon starting to light their way.

In the rising moonlight, the bruises and shadows of Alex's face seemed nonexistent. His face looked clear and determined, bathed in the white light. All the years that MI6 had given him seemed to fade away, and for the first time since Yassen had known him, Alex looked his age. Forever young.

Behind them, Yassen heard a vague commotion. Glancing in a rear-view mirror, he spied a group of Rockway patrons standing in the drizzle of rain that was steadily becoming a downpour. They wore robes and pyjamas, and were generally ill prepared for the forced outing.

Mingling among them were a few black clad agents and green clad soldiers. Yassen turned the wheel, leaving the confusion of the shore behind. The storm blew rapidly inland, leaving the water ahead beautifully cloudless.

Alex pointed to the sky ahead; following his line of sight, Yassen found himself gazing at a star. The first star of the night. A wishing star.

He pointed the nose of the boat in that direction, determined to sail until the sun came up.

* * *

 **AN:**

The End!

As always, leave your thoughts in the reviews. I look forward to reading what you thought and any constructive criticism you have for me.

I might come back to this story to edit or add to it in the future.


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